


caught in between

by indefinissable



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bottom Castiel, Bunker Sex, Double Penetration, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Overstimulation, Season/Series 12, Sexual Dysfunction, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-11
Updated: 2017-02-11
Packaged: 2018-09-23 10:25:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9651839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/indefinissable/pseuds/indefinissable
Summary: Sam watches them for a while from the doorway, mesmerized by the way Dean’s big hands cup the back of Cas’s skull, the way the muscles in Cas’s shoulders and back shift and flex under the skin when Dean pulls his shirt off, the softness of his belly and the thatch of hair there and the way his breath stutters when Dean trails a hand down, undoes the button of his pants and eases inside. Sometimes it’s too much for Cas, this level of touch, of intimacy, too human, but tonight he presses against Dean like he can’t get enough of it.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first E-rated fic! I owe thanks to a couple of people for its existence in this form: Maria ([sketchydean](http://sketchydean.tumblr.com/)), for drawing [this wonderful art](http://sketchydean.tumblr.com/post/156740592196/) post-12x10 that I just had to write fic for, and Jess ([themegalosaurus](http://archiveofourown.org/users/themegalosaurus/pseuds/themegalosaurus)), for being a patient and thorough beta even though Wincestiel isn't necessarily her thing.

After they finish their beers—Cas sipping his politely, accepting its symbolism as a gesture of gratitude and apology from Dean but clearly not relishing the taste—Sam heads to the library to work. Dean retreats to his room to decompress and Cas goes to bed to rest, claiming to require a period of deep meditation to begin healing his vessel from the damage done by Ishim. Sam, though, finds himself too keyed-up to relax, the strain of how close he came to losing Dean and Cas at once still clenching tight around his chest, nerves still buzzing anxious and refusing to let him shut his eyes. (When he tries he hears Lily whisper, _You’ll help me_ ; remembers how he didn’t hesitate for even a moment).

Instead of resting he stays up doing research, working through a dense Latin text on angelic encounters in the early Middle Ages and searching for mention of anything that might be a Nephilim. He’s been at it for close to an hour and so far he hasn’t turned up anything relevant—just a lot of literal discussion of seed sown by angels and the plentiful harvests that resulted. It isn’t long before the words are starting to swim on the page in front of him, but still he feels tense, fidgety, too worked-up to go to bed.

Wearily, he makes his way to the kitchen for a cup of camomile tea in the hope of calming his jittery nerves. When he fumbles for the switch and light floods the kitchen, he almost jumps out of his skin.

Cas is sitting at the table, stripped down to his shirtsleeves—and even after all these years it’s a rare enough sight that it makes him look vulnerable, strangely young. He’s still pale, and the wounds on his face are beginning to bruise, purple and raw. He startles when Sam turns the light on, flinches like he’s been caught. “Sam—”

It’s then that Sam realizes Cas is shaking, fine tremors stuttering through his shoulders and hands, clenched tight on the tabletop like he’s not quite sure how to make it stop.

“Hey,” Sam says, alarmed. He takes a half-step forward, worried Castiel’s injuries might be worse than they thought, that he might collapse right here in the kitchen. “Cas. Are you—?”

“I was… dreaming,” Cas says haltingly. “I dreamed that you and Dean had died—that you were dead and my hands were drenched in your blood and I couldn’t stop it. I lost you to the Empty. And when I woke I remembered Benjamin, and Mirabel, and how I should have been the one who—”

He breaks off, presses a closed fist tight to his mouth. Sam moves forward, extending a tentative hand. Sometimes touching Cas when he’s upset is… a bad idea, to say the least. This time, when Sam touches his shoulder he melts into the contact, bringing his hand off the table to grip Sam’s tightly.

“You didn’t lose us, Cas,” Sam reminds him gently. “You saved us. You did right by us, and them too.”

Cas makes a wounded little sound and Sam aches for him; for the way he’s always so quick to take the blame for the deaths of his brothers and sisters, and how clearly shaken the dream has left him. He wants to help, but Cas is so... inhuman sometimes, in the way that he can be both untouchable and inconsolable.

But then Cas says “Sam” again, softly, cracked around the edges, and he’s tilting his face up and half-rising out of his seat, wrapping a firm hand around the back of Sam’s neck and fitting their mouths together, clumsy and a little desperate. Sam kisses him back, soothes a hand through his hair and down his back and okay, this is something he can offer Cas, something he can do to help.

Eventually Cas breaks the kiss, pushes the line of his body against Sam’s and breathes into his mouth, eyes wild and hair mussed, reaches for Sam’s belt and growls, “I want—”

Sam spins between concern and arousal so fast it makes him a little dizzy. “Okay,” he says, voice thready. “Yeah. Okay. Dean too?”

This close up, Sam doesn’t miss the way Cas’s head dips at that, eyes lowering in shame. “He’s angry with me.”

“Nah,” Sam says, tries again when it comes out a bit hollow. “No, Cas. You know how he gets. You just scared him, is all. He doesn’t want anything to happen to you. Neither of us do.”

Cas nods, seems to consider this seriously. Then: “Yes. Yes,” and he leans up to kiss Sam again, softer, before letting go of him. Sam notices the stiffness in his movements as they walk to the living quarters together, the pain he’s clearly in.

There’s a moment where Sam wonders whether Dean will even be awake still, but light is streaming from under his bedroom door, flooding the dimly lit hallway. Cas pushes the door open and enters without knocking.

Dean looks up from where he’s sprawled out on his bed in his boxers and a t-shirt, leaning back against the headboard. “Cas, what—?”

Cas hovers near the doorway, clearly steeling himself. “I’m not sorry for what I did. I won’t apologize for it.”

Dean puts the book he’s been reading down on the nightstand. There’s a half-drunk glass of whiskey there but the tumbler is still nearly full. He looks tired, a little puzzled but not irritated, and he extends a hand out to Cas, says, “C’mere,” low and full of intent.

Cas obeys, and Dean seems to sense he’s on edge, because he pulls him down to the bed and kisses him hard, one hand behind his neck, fingers of the other going to the buttons on Cas’s shirt. Cas practically crawls into Dean’s lap, knees on either side of his thighs and clutching Dean’s broad shoulders tight, folding into the contact.

Sam watches them for a while from the doorway, mesmerized by the way Dean’s big hands cup the back of Cas’s skull, the way the muscles in Cas’s shoulders and back shift and flex under the skin when Dean pulls his shirt off, the softness of his belly and the thatch of hair there and the way his breath stutters when Dean trails a hand down, undoes the button of his pants and eases inside. Sometimes it’s too much for Cas, this level of touch, of intimacy, too human, but tonight he presses against Dean like he can’t get enough of it.

Cas says, “I want—” just a scrap of sound, and Dean meets his eyes, murmurs “Yeah. Fuck, yeah.”

Sam thinks he’d like to keep watching them forever, but then Dean says his name—“Sam”—low and shot with whiskey and arousal, and his body takes a more immediate interest. He rounds the bed, leans down and kisses Dean gently. “Hey.”

The soft fondness on Dean’s face aches just a little. “Still burning the midnight oil?”

“Mm.” Sam shrugs. “Too wired to sleep.”

Dean grins, wolfish. “Let’s fix that, hey Cas?”

“Yes,” Cas says, rough from Dean’s hand still working in his pants, but amusingly sincere. “You need to sleep, Sam.”

That makes them both chuckle, and Cas says “What?” irritated by the lull in activity. Sam kisses his open mouth, the glistening plump of his lower lip. Then Dean starts moving his hand in Cas’s pants again, says “Hey,” and flips them—careful of Cas’s injuries, of his own bruises from being thrown into the cement wall—getting Cas on his back and out of his pants in record time. After he strips his own shirt he starts kissing down Cas’s chest, paying attention to the sensitive pink of his nipples, leaving little bites down the dips of his ribs until there’s a lovely flush blooming on his throat and he whines, “Please.”

Dean sits up, pulls Cas’s boxers down over his hips so his cock springs free, nestled in dark curls and curving low against his belly, smearing wet there already. Then he leans over to the nightstand, gets the lube from the drawer and coaxes Cas to turn over on his hands and knees, gets positioned behind him so they’re both facing Sam.

Although he can’t see much from this angle, Sam can tell when Dean slicks his fingers and starts pushing in—that first slow, inexorable slide that Sam is so intimately familiar with—from the way Cas puts his head down and moans. Dean works slowly, one hand firm on Cas’s hip. Getting him ready takes time,since neither of them are small by any means and Cas is always wound up so _tight_ , in every sense of the word. It takes effort and patience to get him slick and open enough to take either of them, and Cas is never patient about it (complaining loudly that he can take it, he doesn’t need to be treated like a fragile human), but he’s always so _sensitive_ , little hitching gasps accompanying every motion— _a-ah, uh, oh_ —hips rolling and cock leaking wet and sticky against his belly, or the sheets, or a hand, twitching when Dean gets deep enough to press fingers against his prostate. It’s breathtaking every time.

Dean meets Sam’s eyes over Cas’s shoulder, his gaze dark. This alone is enough to do it for both of them, Cas moaning between them. “Wearin’ too many clothes, Sammy,” he says. “C’mon, man. Join the party.”

Sam strips his shirt off obediently and Dean’s eyes rove appreciatively over his shoulders and chest. Dean does something that makes Cas’s breath stutter and his hips jerk, has him muffling a moan into his own shoulder. Cas is watching Sam too, and the combination—what they’re doing and the fact that they’re both looking at _him_ , thinking about him—has his heart thudding and his dick beginning to fill, just a little, pressing against the seam of his jeans. He unbuttons and shucks them, then gets up on his knees on the bed.

Fingers still moving inside Cas, Dean says, “That’s real nice, Cas. What’re you thinking? Who d’you want first?”

Cas licks his lips, huffs out a breath. “U-uh, _ah_ , both. Please, both.”

There’s a moment where Sam is pretty sure his brain short-circuits. From the look on Dean’s face when it comes back online, so has his. They’ve only done it a handful of times and it’s… intense, to say the least. (Sam tried it once the other way and tipped a little over the threshold of _too much_ , shaking and strung-out and sobbing and it felt like it took him days to get back to normal—or whatever it is that passes for _normal_ in the tangle of Sam’s head). But tonight he knows he wants this, needs them all safe and close and taken care of, and when he looks at Dean he knows he’s thinking the same thing.

“Yeah,” Dean says, breathy. “Cas. Yeah. Wanna get us both stuffed up in you, huh?” He smooths a hand down over Cas’s back, the line of his spine. “Christ, you’re tight though. How ‘bout you get Sam ready with your mouth while I finish up here?”

Sam shuffles a little closer on his knees, so he’s right at Cas’s eye level. Cas cranes his neck, looks up up up at Sam’s face, licks his lips when he finds what he’s looking for there and reaches for the waistband of Sam’s boxers, pulls them down and tucks the elastic under his balls. Sam is still mostly soft—it’s been happening for years now, that what he wants in his head doesn’t always translate smoothly to his body—and he fights the urge to flinch away and cover himself in shame. Instead of acting alarmed or concerned, Cas hums softly and nuzzles a little at the uncooperative flesh, then swallows him down. Sam can’t help the thread of anxiety working away in his brain, telling him he’s going to fail, that he won’t be able to give Cas what he wants, that he isn’t enough—could never be enough—but it’s quickly drowned out by the soft pressure and heat of Cas’s mouth, the spit-wet sounds of his lips and tongue around Sam’s cock, the way he moans and whimpers when Dean does something nice with his fingers. It doesn’t take long before Sam’s cock begins to harden and ache with pulsing arousal and his hips are jerking forward involuntarily. Yeah, he can do this.

“Give him three,” Sam tells Dean, panting, petting Cas’s hair and the rosy flush of his cheeks, feeling the stubble there, the stretch of his lips around Sam’s cock. “Don’t wanna hurt him.”

“Yeah,” Dean says, equally breathless already though no one has so much as touched his cock, which is stiff and flushed dark and glistening at the tip. His gaze on Sam is intense, hungrily watching Sam’s cock slide wet into Cas’s pink mouth.

When Dean decides Cas is ready, he pulls his fingers free. Cas whines, pulls off Sam with a slick noise and says “Dean,” exasperated, a string of saliva still connecting him to Sam.

Dean pats Cas’s ass consolingly, says, “C’mere,” and tugs him up so he’s kneeling, chest-to-back. For a moment Sam thinks he’s about to just go for it—which, yes, he’s so okay with that—but apparently his brother has other plans.

“Take ‘em off, Sammy,” he says; then, after Sam does, “Sit back, against the headboard. Yeah, good.”

Sam feels a little silly, sprawled back completely naked, but then Dean whispers something into Cas’s ear and Cas is shuffling up the bed, the insides of his thighs brushing the Sam’s legs, and then he’s settling into Sam’s lap, hands gripping Sam’s shoulders and cock bumping sticky between their bellies, Sam’s cock dragging against the soft skin of his ass. Sam’s hands come up to his waist, steadying, careful of the bruises there.

“Hello,” Cas says, and kisses him, grounding and sure. Most of the insecurity bleeds away there, shielded by Cas’s body.

Then Dean is crowding up behind Cas, nudging him up and gripping Sam’s cock in familiar callused fingers, getting him slippery with lube and lined up so he’s nudging the slick hot rim of Cas’s hole; and Cas is adjusting his grip on Sam’s shoulders and working himself down, opening himself on Sam’s cock in a series of stuttering breaths and practiced little rolls of his hips. Despite all that prep he’s still _tight,_ clutching around Sam like a vise, and Sam wants to shut his eyes and shove his hips up and lose himself in the incredible sensation; but nothing, nothing could be as good as the sight of Cas right now, with his head tipped back and his eyes closed in deep concentration, brow furrowed like he’s on the edge of pain, the flush of his throat exposed for Sam’s eyes and hands and mouth.

“Good boy,” Sam murmurs, and Cas shudders, clenches up tighter and his cock jerks between them. Sam exhales sharply.

“Yeah,” Dean says, breathy in the way Sam knows means he’s touching himself, eyes glued to where Sam’s cock is disappearing slowly into Cas’s body. “Like that.”

Sam is careful to keep his hands gentle despite the intensity—there are still dark bruises all down Castiel’s ribs, in the divots of his hipbones, spreading over his back and shoulders—sweeping over Cas’s waist and down the elegant arch of his spine, reaching to touch the place where they’re joined together slick and close.

Cas groans weakly when he finally bottoms out, settling into Sam’s lap and panting softly with the effort. He looks a little strung out, so Sam pulls him in for a kiss, sweeps a careful hand down Cas’s chest and stomach to take his neglected cock in hand while he adjusts to the stretch, play with it until Cas is moaning earnestly into his mouth, growling at him a little desperately to “Move. Sam.”

Not one to be told twice, Sam does, planting his feet on the bed and using the meagre leverage to roll his hips _up_ , shoving his cock deeper into Cas. Cas responds with resounding appreciation, stuttering “A-ah, ah” as he begins to move. Dean, moving in closer, murmurs low, “Nice, Sammy. So deep in him. So big,” and, “Cas. Yeah, fuck yourself on him.” Soon the slide into Cas is easier and he’s smearing wet against Sam’s belly, moving fast enough that the motions of their bodies are making quiet slippery sounds, accompanied by their uneven breathing and Dean’s filthy encouragements.

It isn’t long before Cas says, “More, Dean. I can handle it.”

There’s the click of the lube cap and Dean meets Sam’s gaze over Castiel’s shoulder. Then Sam can feel Dean’s fingers, warm and sticky and probing against his balls, the base of his dick, where Cas is stretched open around him. Cas makes a strangled sound and jerks forward into Sam, puts his forehead down on Sam’s shoulder and grates out “ _Dean_ ,” wrecked and pretty as Dean pushes a thick finger inside him alongside Sam, slow and so so tight.

The extra pressure is unbelievable, and Sam hisses low through his teeth. He has no idea how Dean is going to fit in there before he blows his load, not with Cas already spiralled so high between them and Dean’s fingers pushing up hard against Sam’s cock, setting off white hot sparks of pleasure behind his eyes; and still so much farther to go. Sam gets one hand in Castiel’s hair, soothing through the soft strands, lays the other one over Dean’s on Cas’s hip, laces their fingers together and squeezes.

It takes time, and patience (and an astounding level of self-restraint on Sam’s part); but eventually Dean is crowding up on his knees right behind Cas, slicking his own cock and murmuring “Ready?”—and when Cas nods against Sam’s shoulder he presses up and _in_ , blunt and wet and incredibly slow. It’s intense, hot, so close between them there’s hardly enough air to breathe.

Cas makes an inhuman sound, wrenched from somewhere deep in his chest like a sob. He’s clearly on the edge of being totally overwhelmed—face tucked against Sam’s neck, shoulders hunched and gripping Sam’s arms white-knuckle tight, making helpless noises that resonate through Sam’s whole body—so Sam soothes a hand through his hair and shushes him, kisses the curve of his shoulder, hopes the contact will keep him here with them.

When Dean is as deep as the angle and Cas’s body will accommodate, they hold still for long breathless moments, adjusting to the intense pressure. Dean says, “So good, Cas. So hot,” and Sam reaches between their bodies and strokes Cas’s cock, which has flagged a bit. He’s shaking all over, the muscles in his abdomen jumping and twitching at Sam’s touch.

Eventually, trembling and with only their bodies to support him, Cas lifts his head off Sam’s shoulder and straightens gradually between them, slow and careful, leans back into Dean’s broad chest. Dean wraps an arm around Cas’s middle, mindful of the bruises, tries an experimental roll of his hips that makes Cas gasp and shudder and grasp at Sam’s shoulders. The slick, close drag of Dean’s cock, the tight shivering clutch of Cas around them—it verges on _too much_ , and Sam’s breath stutters out of him at once.

Another slow thrust from Dean, and Cas turns his head to the side and they’re kissing, open-mouthed, and Dean’s thumb is in the hollow of Cas’s throat. While they’re preoccupied with each other, Sam tries shifting his hips up with the little leverage he can manage; Cas moans into Dean’s mouth and Dean rolls his hips next and then they’re taking turns, both of them push-pulling into Cas and slip-dragging against each other, hot and close and moving together. The sounds are obscene. Sam plays with Cas’s nipples, rolling them between his fingers and scraping a little with his nails the way Cas likes, making him gasp and squirm, arching his back and shoving his chest into Sam’s hands. He’s desperate, panting and grunting with exertion, smearing wet all over Sam’s belly, but the uneven rhythm isn’t quite enough to get him there and he’s saying “Please. _U-uh._ Please.”

After a while, Dean stills the rocking of his hips and says, “C’mon, Cas. Your turn.”

Hands braced on Sam’s shoulders, adjusting his knees on the bed where they’ve slipped and whimpering when it jostles him, Cas begins to move, raising himself slowly and lowering back down onto their cocks. On the next upstroke Dean slips out suddenly, bumps blunt and thick against Cas’s rim on the way down and Cas shudders, keens high in his throat when Dean smears more lube over himself and slides back in.

The pleasure is building rapidly, tightening in Sam’s balls and coiling at the base of his spine. He doesn’t know how much longer he can hold out, so he reaches for Cas’s cock, red and weeping and so hard it looks painful, jerks him quickly once, twice, three times and then Cas cries out sharply and comes, mouth dropping open, eyes squeezing shut, nails digging into Sam’s back deep enough to draw blood. His whole body goes tense, drawing up into a rigid line of overwhelming pleasure, and the clutching spasms of his orgasm are enough to set Sam off—tipping his head back and shoving his hips _up_ , pressing himself tight into Cas and against Dean and coming so hard his vision whites out for a second or two.

Dean says, “Yeah, Sammy. Cas. Like that,” rough and breathless and still a little awed every time.

When Sam finally stills and shivers out the last aftershocks, Dean eases out carefully and guides Cas up and off Sam. Cas hisses at the raw sting of it, the hollow emptiness they’re leaving behind—and then Dean guides him lax and shaking down onto his side next to Sam, who leans in and kisses his slack mouth. Eyelids fluttering, Cas fumbles for Dean, says, “Keep going,” and Dean pulls Cas’s top thigh up and pushes back in, steady but still gentle. Cas moans weakly and Dean says, “Fuck, Cas. So good,” picking up the pace.

Once he gets his breath back, Sam moves down Cas’s body to run his mouth over the mess of his belly and chest, salty-sharp on his tongue, over his nipples and down to the flush of his cock, still twitching against the soft skin of his thigh. Cas whimpers and grasps at Sam’s head.

Sam crawls back up Cas’s body and gets up on his knees to watch and _Christ_ , that’s hot—Dean grunting softly and shoving into Cas with that single-minded intensity that Sam knows means he’s close. The sound of their bodies moving together is slick and loud, evidence of how loose Cas is, of the mess Sam has already left in him. Sam normally isn’t much for dirty talk, but he decides to help his brother out, says “Gonna come in him, Dean? Get him all sloppy inside like I did? Fuck, I bet he’ll still be leaking in the morning—”

And that’s all it takes for Dean to come on a grunted “ _Fuck_ ,” hips stuttering, jerking mindlessly against Cas— _in and in and in_ —hand squeezing Cas’s hip and forehead coming to rest against the back of Cas’s neck as he shuts his eyes tight and rides it out.

Sam strokes Dean’s hair as he comes down, calls them both “Good” and “So pretty,” leans down to kiss the bitten-pink of Dean’s mouth when he opens his eyes and grins roguishly up at him—“Yeah, yeah. You’re great.”

Cas lets out a shivery hiss when Dean moves back, slips free. There’s some pain there, but shuddering sensitive pleasure, too. Sam rolls Cas onto his back and he’s already hard again, cock jutting out insistently. Dean sits up to watch, whistles low and impressed when Sam pushes Cas’s legs apart and probes at his hole, puffy and loose and leaking come and lube all over the bedsheets and the insides of his thighs. A bit sore, to be sure, but he’ll be fine.

Cas’s eyes are fluttering and he looks blown-out and adrenaline-high, but he sighs happily when Sam leans in and swallows him down, pushes a couple of careful fingers back inside where he’s hot and dripping. Keyed-up from Dean’s orgasm and drunk on the human endorphins saturating his body, it doesn’t take long until Cas is clutching at Sam’s hair and flooding his mouth with a juddery sigh, less intense this time. Sam swallows, keeps going until Cas is spit-clean and squirming with oversensitivity.

When Sam finally pulls back, Cas’s whole body goes soft, melting into the mattress. Dean gets up, presumably to go get a towel, and Sam scoots back up the bed, sits against the headboard again at Cas’s side. He’s already feeling the urge to get up and shower, turn the water on hot and get clean. Cas nuzzles into Sam’s hip when he tries to move, half-gone, murmurs an indistinct noise of protest. Sam pets his hair.

“Better?” Sam asks, and Cas nods minutely, soft hair brushing against Sam’s thigh.

Then Dean comes back with a couple of damp cloths and an extra blanket. He uses one of the towels between Cas’s legs, gently wiping away the worst of the mess they made there, then spreads the blanket over him; Cas grumbles vaguely, not asleep but sedated, loopy. Sam expects Dean to hand him the second towel but instead his brother scoots up the bed and kisses him, twisting his fingers in the hair at the back of Sam’s neck with one hand and running the cloth down his body with the other, cleaning his sticky cock and thighs. Sam shivers at the contact, and Dean hums contentedly against his mouth.

Dean pulls back, tips their foreheads together. “Okay, Sammy?”

Sam considers the question, realizes his eyes are aching with exhaustion. “Yeah.”

“Mm,” Dean assents, sitting back at Sam’s side. “Was fucking hot. Wasn’t sure he’d be able to take us both at first but. Wow.”

“I can hear you, you know,” Cas grumbles from his place at Sam’s hip. “It’s hardly necessary to treat me gently.”

“Yeah,” Sam says, stroking his shoulder. “It is.”

“Sure you’re okay?” Dean says, quiet. “You’ve seemed kind of strung out, since… I mean, more than usual.”

“I’m fine,” Sam says, uncontrollable reflex, and looks down at his hands in his bare lap. Then, whispered soft like a confession: “I just—I _can’t_ lose you. Either of you. And every time it comes close I—”

“Hey,” Dean says, grips his chin and pulls his face up to meet his gaze. “Look at me. You won’t. Not this time.” He says it fiercely, a promise none of them are under the illusion he can keep, then softens. “Why don’t you lie down, try and get some sleep?”

Sam is itching to shower and brush his teeth, but Dean and Cas are warm on either side of him and his eyelids are heavy with the need to sleep. There’s a pleasant buzz of endorphins singing in his veins and Dean’s bed is so much softer than his own.

His mind is finally quiet. A few more minutes spent dirty can’t possibly hurt.

**Author's Note:**

> Come find me on tumblr @[withthedemonblood](http://withthedemonblood.tumblr.com/).


End file.
